Daddy, The Man Who Loved Mom

This morning I am thinking about how greatly my notion of a desirable relationship, romance, and marriage are shaped by the template of my dad’s love for my mom.  I remember how he would bring her beautiful, red roses.  Usually it was for their wedding anniversary, but at other times it was just because.  He would also give her the sweetest cards that made her smile.  I remember how occasionally he’d take her…only the two of them…to get away from us six kids.  They’d go out for a nice, quiet dinner or for a long drive together.  I remember how much they really seemed to like each other.  Sometimes dad would get home from work first, and other times mom would.  But, oh how they each perked up and lit up at the arrival of the other!  I remember how he looked at her, held her, and treated her with such tenderness and affection.  My favorite thing to remember is how I’d lay in bed some nights and hear them talking and laughing in their room…like amicable partners, like faithful companions, like best friends.  I realize how nostalgia can dramatically enhance the images of the mind over time, so one day I asked my mom to talk to me about dad.  Her reaction and her words just melted me and let me know that my recollections were pretty accurate.  It’s hard to describe, but as she spoke it was as if she became young again.  She described him as protective and funny and kind.  What stands out most in my mind is how she said, “He loved me.”  In my present season of singleness, this is the picture I carry around in my heart:  a man who is thoughtful, affectionate, protective, funny, and kind; a man who perks up and lights up when he sees me; a man who will be my trusted and intimate friend; a man of whom I can say, “He loves me.”  There’s a saying I’ve heard that speaks to a woman’s tendency to seek in a man that which she knows well.  The saying is, “We marry our fathers.”  For me, that would be a blessing.